


the stranger in the train

by astraholt (kicksmalfoy)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Filming, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Object Insertion, Public Use, Pussy Spanking, Sex Toys, Sexual Content - Non-consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kicksmalfoy/pseuds/astraholt
Summary: Later, Felicity won’t remember what came before.
Relationships: Train passenger(s)/Office lady
Comments: 6
Kudos: 146
Collections: Femslash After Dark 2020





	the stranger in the train

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vandoorne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/gifts).



> I hope this fits the bill ;)

Later, Felicity won’t remember what came before. She will remember it was a Friday and it was late. She had worked until nearly 10 PM, then hurried to catch the commuter train. It had been fairly empty and she had chosen a seat away from everyone else, in the back. Everyone thought being an accountant was a placid job with no excitement, but every quarter closing was extremely stressful. She had worked twelve hours a day every day that week, skipping meals and sleeping poorly. It was not surprising that she seemingly fell asleep in her seat before the train had even left station.

At first, she thought she was dreaming, and future memories will be shaped with that dreamlike quality, ethereal and vague, pleasurable little shockwaves cursing through her before she can discern their origin. She will remember growing hot, then feeling awake but being unable to wrestle herself from the pleasure, her whole body tensed with it, her skin so charged that a caress felt like a lashing.

She will forget the faint impression of fingers caressing her breast through her dress. Teeth nipping at the sensitive skin over her throat. The hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. Sharp nails against her engorged vulva. Her clit being rubbed gently, then pinched painfully. She won’t remember, but somewhere, there will be a video of it.

The video will show a young woman sitting next to her. Auburn hair, horn-rimmed round glasses that make her turquoise eyes look doe-like, an expensive suit. Someone you might befriend during a commute after a long day. Someone you would get cocktails with. She looks like she knows how to have fun, you might think.

Her name is Bianca, but Felicity will never know that and in the foggy memories she will hold, it won’t matter. The details will be of little importance, since Felicity will hold onto the faint belief that it was all a dream. She will name Bianca something different in her mind, reconstruct little things about her appearance over the years. A red lipstick where there was none. A necklace Bianca would never have owned. It’s only fair that she would get to impose something on the narrative after the fact.

A lot was imposed onto her body while she had been asleep in that train. Less than she would like to imagine. She was awake (though she would doubt her consciousness later) when Bianca’s fingers slipped inside of her and thrust gently. She did moan, that was not a dream or a false memory. When Bianca whispered in her ear “Does it feel good?” and she nodded, she was groggy, but not asleep, though she has a right to pretend otherwise, of course.

The video will then show Bianca lowering Felicity’s head towards her breast, placing a nipple against her lips. And it will show Felicity taking the nipple into her mouth, sucking on it.

Felicity will only remember the fingers being replaced with a small object, the vibrations surging through her pussy soon after, her whole body spasming as if trying to clamp down around the tiny toy. She will remember the toy being removed just as she crested towards an orgasm. She will remember whining at the withheld pleasure, but will edit that detail out over the years.

From that night, she will remember, most of all, the smacks against her pussy, the sound of a palm connecting with her wet flesh reverberating so loud she was suddenly alert, sure that the whole train was watching this happen, unable to open her eyes to confirm her suspicion. She had no doubt that if people were watching and they did assume she was asleep and helpless, they still wouldn’t interfere. Bystanders never interfered in this type of thing. She didn’t keep her eyes closed and her body as limp as she could manage to attract sympathy, she did it just to avoid further humiliation. She was being sexually hazed by a stranger, her body submitted to escalating humiliations for someone’s pleasure, and it should have sent her to her feet screaming, crying, finding reserves of violence in herself. Instead, she was breathless with anticipation for the next slap. Invisible strings thrummed inside her, begging to be snapped free by an orgasm, and while she experienced a bottomless need for climax, so dauntingly vast she couldn’t bear to try and gauge it, she also wished for the strumming never to stop. It felt so good to be held on the edge like this. This she would always remember and she would never try to forget, despite the deep shame that remembering would bring. She will visit this feeling later in the darkness, in her lonesome bed, and she will push the speed of her vibrator to the maximum, frantic to reach that state again.

It’s unfortunate though, that she never opened her eyes, because she had an unreasonable attraction to women in glasses, and Bianca’s framed eyes would have imprinted themselves in her memories, possibly giving her just enough of a shove towards it.

Bianca had impressive eyes any day, the kind of eyes women she settled them on would be fond of for years afterwards, but there was something about spreading Felicity’s yielding legs apart and spanking her pussy so unabashedly that triggered a sort of alchemy, hardening her pools of blue into opaque but seductive gems. Through her phone’s camera, Bianca’s friend and sometimes lover noticed this, zoomed in in a thrall, accidentally making it so Felicity would be the one who had the best recollection of the pussy spanking later. Bianca will be disappointed, but Bianca will have other memories to savor, so her disappointment will be slight, easily dispersed by waves of intense arousal, overwhelming remorse, and nauseating satisfaction when she reminisces about what she had done. And the sounds of her smacks against the office lady’s pussy will appear sometimes as flashbacks, sudden and thrilling, making her wet and dizzy. She can easily accept that as a replacement for a visual memento.

She had always wanted to do that. And Felicity had never imagined it as a possibility; though she knew about the porous barrier between pleasure and pain, though it seemed natural that this was something that some people did, it had never occurred to her to ask for it to be done to her, and later she will never find the words to ask. The spanking felt like a secret taboo, something she could accept as causing enjoyment, but she couldn’t request. She enjoyed it all the more that night, the jolting blows against her most intimate of places, the fingers striking her clitoris, the explosion of sensation being heaped on her over and over again, because it had felt unthinkable, a pleasure that should have been out of reach for her by virtue of not being _for_ her. It was meant as a degradation. It _was_ a degradation, but instead of responding accordingly, she had been feverish with pleasure, her body losing its feigned softness and starting to shake.

Felicity will remember how wrong it felt to orgasm, but the wrongness of it will be established afterwards by reason. When Bianca kneeled between her legs and started pleasuring her with her tongue, Felicity only felt eagerness. She moaned and Bianca, who had realized long before that Felicity was awake, had taken immense pleasure in breaking her act. Felicity didn’t know this and wouldn’t have cared, but she also had no more energy for pretending, no will left to stop herself moaning again and gain.

“That’s a good little slut,” she will remember her assailant saying, not knowing that it wasn’t Bianca at all speaking. “I’ve never seen anyone so ready to be fucked. Look at how much you are enjoying being fucked by a stranger in a train. What a dirty slut you are.”

Felicity will always think of Bianca as the stranger in the train, the anonymous woman who ate her pussy so mercilessly she gave Felicity the best orgasm of her life. She will not remember lowering her hand to Bianca’s head, gripping her hair viciously as she approached climax and then petting her, an unbelievable act of affection, once she crested and all there was left was leftover tremors and muscle contractions, mostly because she doesn’t want to, doesn’t like knowing this about herself, and did everything possible to erase this from her narrative. Bianca will remember how aroused the touch made her, how she nearly reached past her waistband to masturbate, but for some reason felt that the gesture would ruin the moment.

Bianca will cherish this memory the most, use it often as a shield when her guilt decides to hit her. She will cling to this moment every subsequent time she runs into Felicity on the train. She will smile at Felicity, kindly, remembering that final caress and Felicity will smile back, hesitant, a bit scared (she will forever be a bit scared), but mostly mad at herself that this dream that she knows wasn’t a dream can still keep her from reaching out and talking to women who are probably very nice, not dangerous at all. And it’s a pity because the sight of the redhead with the horn-rimmed glasses and the bespoke suits in her commute always makes her a bit wet. 


End file.
